


dance of desire

by istanbul



Category: DTTWT - Fandom, Dream Team - Fandom, mcyt
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27613925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/istanbul/pseuds/istanbul
Summary: you put a spell on me with kisses so sweet, they rot my teeth.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	dance of desire

**Author's Note:**

> HELLLOOOO TIK TOK!!!! This fic is based off of a TikTok that user @bruhbles_ made LOL I hope you enjoy reading it I ended up getting tired and half assing it after a few paragraphs.
> 
> Plz do listen to Muhler’s tenth symphony and then the howls moving castle theme song while reading

It’s like laying armor off and the weight is only slightly lifted as the burden still rests heavy on your shoulders. It’s impeding, thwarting on short breaths and frustrating, desolating cries.

Yet, it’s not the velvety reality for which he’s faced with, but projections of interpretations meeting his emerald hues. He cannot face it, mirror it — but he hates it. He hates it and yet hate is what balances it so he loves it. Counterfeit, deception. He falls for those eyes every single time, even though he would never admit it. We’re enemies, he thinks. I should’ve killed him on the spot last night, he thinks. Maybe then I wouldn’t be thinking like this, he thinks. He covers his face out of frustration.

Quickly, as of recent days, Clay realizes how foolish he was for not understanding that the other’s process of communicating through music went beyond just seething hatred and furthermore. Not to do so with bland detail in mind, he realizes that the song is of no use if it cannot properly compose how you feel through its lyrical sway. You cannot add just any song for the soul you want to speak with.

Clay could never understand George. The way he would flutter his lashes at the other to escape death and tilt his head, whispering a soft plead to Clay. Other times, he would curse Clay out, implying enmity and malice. But at the moment, he could understand one thing. He understood George’s meticulous detail to the notes of music, the language of song. It seemed so classic, he was quite literally the kingdom’s prince charming, but he had never been attentive to it until this moment.

  
Seeing Clay was initially a coincidence, knowing however, became a scar; but a scar George doesn’t wish to heal from. Instead, he wants to make more, a sadomasochistic way of things. Build and retell the stories behind them. Clay is a villain in George’s maladaptive daydreams and he’s the hero. He’s going to be the one to save his kingdom and put the infamous marauder to sleep once and for all, thought it was obvious that deep down he didn’t want that.

Clay can’t help but wonder, was it worth it? Like some ill warped game to see who can lose first? Maybe it had been a fight for dominance. He knows what he’ll see when he steps into the ballroom. George would be dancing skillfully without effort, naturally.

And he was right. There the boy was, sashaying by himself to the melancholic rhythm that the orchestra was playing. The first movement of the Tenth is an elegiac adagio in F sharp major-minor and Clay falls into the music despite it’s intense sadness. It’s almost as intense as George’s eyes boring through the eye sockets of Clay’s mask. He shakes off the anxiety of getting caught by the royal guards and makes his way through the crowd, dodging gowns, waiters, and table cloths. The weave of the violins and flutes is hypnotic, swinging from domestic tranquility to ominous warning. What ensued is almost painful in its intensity, a dissonant clash of the orchestra, topped by a solo trumpet blaring a high A note. Death and destruction, shock and dismay. How could anyone dance to this? Clay wonders as he sways gently, trying to blend in but failing, as he awkwardly stumbles next to the smaller boy. Regaining his posture, Clay looks over the ballroom, scanning the room for anybody that could recognize him. He was only there, even if he wasn’t supposed to be, to distract George.  
  
Clay opens his mouth to insult the other’s suit but is immediately cut off.

"Mahler’s tenth symphony." George hums, swirling the wine in his glass around. It’s almost like he knew what Clay was going to do.

"What?" Clay raises an eyebrow. 

"The composition.” He takes a sip. “Oh God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

The beginning of the second scherzo nearly startles Clay. A shrill blast from horns and strings and then back to the dance with life and hope, decline and death.

"Davidson, could you speak English? I don’t understand a thing you’re saying."

"That's what Mahler wrote on the original score.” George spits, turning towards Clay, who seems as if he’s about to laugh.

“That miserable little man.”

“Don’t be rude, you act like you’re any different.” George spits. He has to restrain himself from murdering the masked man in front of everyone at that very moment.   
  
Clay scowls, quickly grabbing a hold of a glass of champagne from a rushing waitress. He takes a sip to cool himself down, scanning the ballroom once again. Guards were starting to suspect him. Clay turns his back to them, towering over George in result. The orchestra shifts to play a scherzo containing a crescendo, so Clay leans down to talk to George.

“This is such a miserable piece, it reminds me of you." He tilts his face, whispering into George’s ear. The shorter could literally hear him smirk. 

He adds, "did something happen to the man?"

"A daughter," George shoves Clay away before noticing the guards and pulling him back, pure annoyance evident on his face. "He lost a daughter. His other daughter was incarcerated during World War II," George adds softly, leaning in to speak.

The music fades, as Clay nods in understanding and pity, setting his glass down on a nearby table and doing the same with George’s when he hears the familiar clanking of armor.   
  
“Shall we dance?” Clay grimaces as he grabs George’s hand and drags him to the center of the ballroom, ignoring the protests and whines of the other. 

This was a new composition, a foreign one. George knows because he has never heard it before. A piano piece? It’s simple, yet beautiful, he thinks as Clay rests a hand on George’s waist. The orchestra soon picks up, and strings join the piano in a 3/4 measure. As the thrumming rhythm of the orchestra whispered into their ears, they began to dance.

Feet forward. Back. George can’t remember the last time he’d done this. He smiles up at Clay, who’s still keeping an eye out for any danger. George adverts his attention and focuses on their waltz instead, ignoring the tinge of heartache he felt. Why did he ever start refusing dances? George lets out a breathy giggle as Clay moves his left foot backward in a smooth motion, sliding across the slick floor. George glides his right foot forward, sliding a hand up Clay’s chest and snaking his arm around the taller’s neck. In return, Clay wraps a strong arm around George’s waist. 

Uncontrollable feelings surge through George and Clay pushes him away from his body as though he was too terrible to be near, yet he holds on to the brit’s left hand with his right, catching him and spinning him out and away. George falls into him when he comes back, and Clay’s strong arms wrap around him tight, encasing George before casting him out again. 

Clay’s tense, unable to relax as he keeps up their 1-2-3 step sequence. There are far too many guards now, they all seem to be looking for him. My plan is gonna fail, he thinks as he stares at a group of guards, quickly shifting his gaze to George when they return the stare. He softens a bit when he recognizes the expression on the smaller’s face. He seems to be having fun, despite the fact that he was practically dancing with the devil. Clay pulls the brunette closer to his being, and most of his jitters melt almost immediately.

George drops low to the ground as Clay dips forward and looks into George’s eyes, his hold tightening around George ribs as his left foot comes forward again, surprising the other’s foot and chasing it back. They stop, toe to toe, and Clay pulls George’s hips in close to his.

George’s lips go to Clay’s ear as he whispers ever so softly.

“You know.. This is a waltz, Mr. Romantic.”

Clay chuckles and nods to say _I know_ as George sets his head on the taller’s shoulder. They continue to dance, too lost in the music to halt. George brings his head up and sleepily opens his eyes, wrapping both his arms around Clay’s neck and pressing his lips against the green eyed man’s jaw, trailing his kisses downwards to his neck. George reaches up and cups the other’s cheeks, leaning in like he did before and whispering.   
  


“I’d reckon it’s time to get out of here, right?”   
  


Clay nods before George can pull him away from the crowd, quickly pulling off his mask and dragging him out and far from the castle. 

  
Now Clay could truly understand one thing. George’s meticulous detail to the notes of music, the _love_ language of song.

Clay figured if he were to have a conversation with someone, it would have to be with someone he had truly, and most certainly loved: George. 


End file.
